Hard hands closed about Honoria's shoulders; she gasped as she was lifted bodily aside. Freed of her touch, the youth opened glazed eyes and struggled to rise.

"Lie back, Tolly. I'm here."

Honoria stared as her rescuer took her place, pressing the youth back to the bed. His voice, his touch, calmed the dying man-he lay back, visibly relaxing, focusing on the older man's face. "Good," he breathed, his voice thin. "Found you." A weak smile flickered across his pale face. Then he sobered. "Have to tell you-"

His urgent words were cut off by a cough, which turned into a debilitating paroxym. Her rescuer braced the youth between his hands, as if willing strength into the wilting frame. As the coughing subsided, Honoria grabbed up a clean cloth and offered it. Laying the youth down, her rescuer wiped the blood from the boy's lips. "Tolly?"

No answer came-their charge was unconscious again.

"You're related." Honoria made it a statement; the revelation had come the instant the youth opened his eyes. The resemblance lay not only in the wide forehead but in the arch of the brows and the set of the eyes.

"Cousins." Animation leached from her rescuer's harsh face. "First cousins. He's one of the younger crew-barely twenty."

His tone made Honoria wonder how old he was-in his thirties certainly, but from his face it was impossible to judge. His demeanor conveyed the impression of wordly wisdom, wisdom earned, as if experience had tempered his steel.

As she watched, he put out one hand and gently brushed back a lock of hair from his cousin's pallid face.

The low moan of the wind turned into a dirge.

Chapter 3

She was stranded in a cottage with a dying man and a man known to his intimates as Devil. Ensconced in the wing chair by the fire, Honoria sipped tea from a mug and considered her position. It was now night; the storm showed no sign of abating. She could not leave the cottage, even had that been her most ardent desire.